Caught In A Fold
by jessmerrick
Summary: Dean has always looked after his brother, protected him from the demons that haunt him so. But now Sam faces danger from a very different kind of demon...can Dean help him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Caught In A Fold**  
**By JessMerrick aka Sami**

Author's Notes: I really write Sam and Dean horribly, but especially Dean. This is just something that I really wanted to do with these characters. The title comes from a song by Mostly Autumn...look out for random quotes. Please feedback, but don't flame - as I said, I know I don't write these guys all too well.

**-**

_**"Nobody knows**_

_**About the way that I've been feeling**_

_**I'm caught in a fold**_

_**As the moon holds the sea"**_

-

Sam Winchester sighed as he stared out of the window, watching the scenery as it passed them by. He was doing his best to block out the background noise - as accustomed to it as he had become, Black Sabbath was a little too heavy to handle at 5am - but it wasn't proving to be all that easy today. Not when Dean was singing at maximum volume, probably just to annoy his little brother, as he quite often seemed to like to do. He turned so that he was facing ahead, after a moment risking a glance over at the driver. "Dean, it's 5am. Do you have to play that quite so loud?" he asked, slightly snappily. He tended to be grumpy when one of his few nights of decent nightmare-free sleep was interrupted. He didn't get why they'd had to leave so early anyway. "You're definitely no Ozzy Osbourne."

"Yes I do," Dean replied simply, his mind somewhere completely different. He was paying some attention to the road, but the rest was channelled in to something else. Something that Sam had no idea about. "Unless you'd prefer Metallica?" He knew that given the choice, Sam would choose Sabbath any day. He said that Metallica were awful, that the singer couldn't sing and their music was just boring and exactly the same. They'd had oh so many arguments about it, but in the end, one or both of them always gave in and they never reached a final verdict.

"Never mind," the younger boy grumbled, sighing. He wondered where they were going, Dean hadn't told him anything. The night before he had driven Sam so insane that he'd turned in at a very unholy hour of 10pm, and then he'd woken him up at 4:20 in the morning, bags packed, telling him to get showered and dressed and that they were moving out. Now he thought about it, Dean was most definitely up to something. He had planned this, driven him to bed early on purpose.

Dean suddenly made a turn, apparently either he knew these roads from the time when he and Sam had been apart, or he was just making up the route as they went along. Two minutes later, he was pulling in to a rest stop with a diner to the side of the garage. It didn't look anything special, but it didn't look completely terrible either. Not half as grotty as some of the places that they had found themselves in the past. Sam looked at Dean and frowned. "You got me up at 4:20am to go for breakfast?" he asked, hoping for some sort of explanation if he started asking questions again.

"Of course not," Dean replied, giving him a look that said 'you're really making me think you're the don't eat the paste kind of special.' Of course he hadn't gotten them up at that insane hour of the morning to go for breakfast. That would just be rather crazy, wouldn't it? No, he had his reasons. They just weren't ones that he felt like sharing at this very moment. If he did, he knew that there would be big trouble. And frankly he couldn't deal with his brother's whining for the next three and a half hours.

Getting out of the car, he waited for his brother to get out. The boy didn't budge. "Come on Sammy, what are you, five?" he sighed, rolling his eyes. He could see he was going to have to start another fight here. They'd had way too many lately and he was really getting sick and tired of it. Something was wrong with Sam and every time that he actually tried to get even slightly chick flickish with him, the boy just got mad or shrugged it off and ignored him. He'd had enough.

"No, I'm twenty-two and I'm not hungry," Sam replied, defeatedly. He sounded so lost, so...broken. Just down, like he was never going to get back up. Dean often worried that he was too far gone, but today he was going to make sure that his brother's life was saved. He refused to lose the only good thing he had. He loved Sam too much to leave him alone. The boy was killing himself, neglecting himself. And he hated it. He really did.

"Damn it Sam don't make me drag your ass inside like some little kid who's having a tantrum. God knows I will but I sure as hell don't want to," Dean said, in a very firm tone that showed he meant business. This was Sam's last chance before he carried out his plan. He had to get the kid's life back on track, whether Sam liked it or not. He was just sick of seeing his baby brother like this. He'd been through so much, he knew that it had really started to take it's toll. It could go either way from here, he could get better - if he tried - or he could just get worse and give up on life. "Get out of the car, Sam."

Sam sighed, very loudly, and eventually got out of the car, slamming the door as he did so. "Okay, okay," he said, just giving up. He was even giving up on fighting now, what was the point? Dean was always so set on having his own way that it was just futile to try and challenge him. He followed his older brother in to the diner and sat down at a booth in the corner. He really wished that Dean would tell him what the hell was going on, he was having really bad feelings. He almost wished that he'd had a stupid nightmare to tell him what to expect.

Dean handed him a menu and then began to scan his own, glancing over the top of it at Sam. Sighing very softly, his eyes flicked back to the breakfast offerings and he made his choice. He folded the menu back up and put it to the side, watching his brother. He looked so exhausted, pale, sickly. He was looking worse every day and it scared him more than he would ever be able to admit. Dean had always taken care of Sam, or always tried his best to. He was so scared of losing him. He didn't know what he would do if he did. He just couldn't lose him, that was unacceptable. "Pancakes and coffee. What'll it be?" he asked Sam, expecting him to have made his mind up by now. _Please, please,_ he thought to himself.

"Orange juice," Sam replied, flatly, closing up his own menu. He looked at Dean, catching the look that he was giving him. He simply shrugged, not bothering to respond. The expression on his face told Dean all that he needed to know. If he said anything, Sam was just going to ignore it or he was going to walk out of the diner and wait in the car. He was in a foul mood, but then that was what depression did to you, wasn't it? It made you sick.

Dean didn't bother to argue, he'd let Samuel have his way this time. It was the last time that he was going to sit back though. He was going to do something...he was now more sure than ever.

Things had got to change.

* * *

That's it kiddies...if you like it please leave feedback... 


	2. Chapter 2

**Caught In A Fold**

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews! Here is chapter two, keep feeding me to get more...I'm sorry this chapter sucks. I wrote myself in to a slight corner. Busy week...I know it took me too long.

--

**"I've been rolling back**

**On a wave already broken**

**I can't fight the tide**

**As the sea**

**Encircles me"**

--

7 days earlier

"Sammy..." Dean called, in a frustrated sing song voice, having been stood here for fifteen minutes already attempting to wake his brother up from this unusually deep sleep. He was glad that he'd managed to catch up on some rest, but he'd been out for at least ten hours now and they had things to do. Besides, Dean couldn't help but be a little concerned. This was happening more and more often and it wasn't the only thing that concerned him about Sam of late. "Sam...Samuel..." Okay, in a moment he was going to just give up and slap the kid awake.

"Guh," Sam managed to mumble, still half asleep. He had been trying to say 'go away' but he hadn't managed to. He had been in such a deep sleep that he knew it was going to take him hours to wake up or actually be able to function on any level. He just snuggled further in to the covers and buried his head in the pillow, hoping that his brother might just magically go away. Or get frustrated and give up. Given their lives and the kinds of creatures and things that they dealt with, magically disappearing was probably the more likely of the two. Boy, he just really didn't want to get up. He was drained, he was weak. He didn't have the energy to search for their father, hunt whatever killed their mother and Jess. The only thing that he had the energy for was staying in bed. But apparently, Dean wasn't about to let him do that. Asshole.

"It's time to get up, Sammy," Dean told the younger man, shaking him now, just getting frustrated. He was getting this more often in the mornings recently, where it took him forever to wake the guy up and then when he did Sam would be in a total mood with him. And with life, actually. But that wasn't just in the mornings, he always seemed to feel that way. Sometimes Dean found it hard to blame him, Sam had certainly been through a lot. It was bound to mess you up, mess with your head. But he still felt like something was seriously wrong here.

At Sam's second attempt to go back to sleep, Dean pulled the covers from the bed, exposing his half naked brother. He screwed up his face slightly at the sight, but frowned. He could have sworn that he had been twice that size when they'd set out on the road together, after Jess's death. Lately he was looking frail, his skin pale. He looked like a ghost of his former self and Dean was often worried that if they got in to one of the more rough situations that they often faced, Sam wouldn't be able to handle himself. He seemed fragile, like he might break soon. Maybe it was only a matter of time? No. He shouldn't think that way. His baby brother was going to be fine, he was just stressed and depressed.

Even so, he couldn't remember seeing Sam smile for a very long time. Hearing him laugh. Watching him eat a full meal. Being enthusiastic. Not since Jess's death, not genuinely. He could tell that most of the time lately, Sam was faking. He'd always known when something was wrong with his baby brother, it was his job, or something. "Get up," he ordered, as he went in to the bathroom to finish getting ready. If Sam wasn't awake when he came back...hell...he'd probably just leave him there. Maybe he really wasn't up for the real life right now, maybe dreamland was better suiting.

When he did emerge, ready to head out, he found Sam was sat up in bed, looking quite wrecked. "Not getting sick on me are you?" Dean asked, the concern not quite shining through in his voice. He rarely let it, prefering it to be hidden. He didn't like to show too much emotion, ever. It could make you very weak, at least in his mind. "We have breakfast to eat and then investigating to do. We say this in every place...but something is definitely not right here."

"I'm not sick," Sam insisted, though he was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Just give me fifteen minutes and I'll be ready to go."

And, as he'd promised, fifteen minutes later he was up and ready to go, even if he wasn't entirely awake or well. They walked across to the diner to get their breakfast, sitting down at a table in a quiet corner. Dean ordered a feast of a breakfast and some coffee, frowning again as Sam insisted on having orange juice and fruit salad.

The next half hour was spent sat in that diner, Dean having finished his breakfast by this time. He was sat there, watching his brother poke at his salad. At least the orange juice had been gone less than three minutes after it had arrived at the table...that was something. Lack of appetite, that was another sign of depression.

It had been going on long enough, this state. It was severe, Dean was fairly sure now that he had to get help for his brother. That night, after a serious day of hunting and poking around a graveyard, they were no further forward in the case or in their battle against Sammy's depression. Having convinced his younger brother to take a long, hot bath, Dean had taken this chance to jump on to the laptop and do a little research. He was going to get Sam help, they weren't going to finish their case. They were going across the country and they'd start tomorrow. He just needed to work out what to say and what type of help was needed. He had the number for one place that dealt with many issues of the mind - he'd have it worked out by the time he called.

* * *

The next morning, Dean woke his brother up bright and early, getting the same fight as always. It took them an hour to get themselves together and out of the door, in to Dean's pride and joy, his Impala. Led Zeppelin were playing on the stereo, but Sam was just staring out of the window, lost in his own world. "Sam, you still alive in there?" Dean asked, feeling the need to check that his brother was actually still with him. Just because he was sat across from him in the passengers seat didn't mean he was actually with him mentally.

Sam nodded slightly, but remained silent for the rest of that morning's journey. When they stopped, he slowly and silently pulled himself out of the car, heading for the restroom. Dean watched with concern as the boy seemed to falter, looking as if he might drop right there. It was worse than he had thought...Sam was about ready to pass out. He hadn't been eating at all lately and when Dean had managed to force him, he was sure that the boy had thrown it up, unable to keep anything down. "You okay?" he asked, keeping some distance but not much, worried that if he didn't follow Sam that he might crash. "You look like you're about to faint there, Samantha."

Sam turned his head and glared slightly, but he looked ill. Pale, ill and Dean would bet a thousand bucks that he felt sick and dizzy. His vision blurred. He made a mental note not to tease Sam when he looked this way, he didn't respond very well to it. "I'm fine," he replied, a little sharply. He then made his way to the bathroom. As soon as he was inside, he leant against the wall, sliding down it. He was so tired, so weak. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. At least his brother hadn't tried to force breakfast on him again this morning. He hadn't eaten anything in twenty four hours, but he hadn't eaten much in a lot longer than that.

Jessica was dead, his mother was dead. They were both dead because of him. If he was better, then the people around him would be better. Things would be better. He deserved to be in pain, he deserved to hurt. He felt sick to his stomach permenantly. There were many things going around in his head, a lot more than Dean seemed to realise.


End file.
